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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221255">On An Island</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annide/pseuds/Annide'>Annide</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon Compliant, Loneliness, Touch-Averse, Touch-Starved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:14:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annide/pseuds/Annide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While on vacation, Malcolm finds he misses home and reflects on the past.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On An Island</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo: Touch Starved</p><p>Set between 1.13 Wait &amp; Hope and 1.14 Eye of the Needle.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                He never much liked physical contact. Ever since he was a child. Sometimes he wondered if it had always been like that or if it started after his father’s arrest. It had been so long, memories blended together. He remembered hugs and affectionate touches from both his parents and his sister before, but he couldn’t remember how he felt about them. Did it already make him slightly uneasy and uncomfortable the way it did now? He knew in the months following the arrest he wouldn’t let anyone touch him. He would even scream when his sister insisted on taking his hand or giving him a hug she believed would comfort him. But he couldn’t remember if that was only because his feelings were heightened at the time or if that’s where his slight aversion for touch had started. He tolerated touches from his mother and sister. He actually felt comforted by Gil’s hand on the back of his neck. But, in general, he wasn’t a fan of touching.</p><p>                Which is why it felt so strange and unfamiliar to him whenever he suddenly craved touch more than anything else. It happened on occasion. It was a completely natural thing. Humans need physical contact. Being deprived of it for too long could negatively impact a person’s mental state. He wasn’t any different. No matter how weird people might think he was, he still had the same basic needs as everyone else.</p><p>                He still remembered one of his first visits to his father. It had been a few months since Martin’s arrest and Jessica had only just let him see him. He had wanted to go for a while, though he hadn’t known how to express that desire. With the trial, his father being moved from prison to Claremont, and the fact he couldn’t seem to manage getting even the simplest words out, he’d thought it best not to bring it up. Especially since he knew it would upset his mother.</p><p>                “You what?”</p><p>                Malcolm glanced back at his sister, playing with her dolls at the other end of the room. She’d looked up when their mother had raised her voice. He didn’t want her to get scared. She was so little, she couldn’t understand that Jessica’s anger was only brought on by concern, and however many drinks she’d had that day. He turned back around, his eyes fixed on the carpet.</p><p>                “I want to see dad. Can we go visit?”</p><p>                “Why would you ever want to see that man again?” She crouched down, put her hands on his shoulders and softened her voice some. “Malcolm, honey, your father did horrible things, he is a very bad man. Why do you want to visit him? Isn’t it better to let him rot in that cell and forget about him?”</p><p>                “I don’t understand. I want to understand. He can explain.”</p><p>                Even then he could see Jessica’s face fall. He knew she would break. There was nothing she could say to change her son’s mind. He’d always been curious, always so eager to learn. And she couldn’t provide him with the answers he was looking for. She wasn’t sure Martin could either, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Malcolm barely ever spoke. He was withdrawn and resisting all attempts to get him to socialise. He was having a hard time at school, he’d get into bouts of anger that antagonised everyone and she could hear him cry himself to sleep most nights. Her curious, eager to learn, bookworm of a son wasn’t there anymore. She hadn’t even seen him open a book since it happened. Letting him visit Martin might be the only thing that could help.</p><p>                It must’ve been his second or third visit to Claremont. Malcolm still remembered how uncomfortable he was there. How strange it was to see his father standing in a cage. He’d forgotten by now what they’d talked about, but it wasn’t what stuck out to him about that visit. It was how much he craved a hug from his dad. How much he wished he could get close enough for Martin to hold him tight.</p><p>                He knew his father had done awful things. He knew everyone thought he was a monster. Everyone thought Malcolm was a monster too, that he was just like him. But to him, Martin was still his dad. He was still the man who read him bedtime stories, who’d act out scenes from The Count of Monte Cristo, who’d teach him about anatomy, who’d give piggyback rides to his little sister. He was still the one he confided in when he had a problem, the one who’d somehow make it all better, and Malcolm didn’t know how to separate that person from the one who had killed twenty-three people and locked a girl in a box in their basement.</p><p>                He hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything. All he could think about was how much he missed his father’s hugs, his father’s touch. Standing so far from him felt cold and impersonal. Like he was visiting a stranger instead of the man who’d taught him how to tie his shoelaces. It had taken a long time to Malcolm to get used to that feeling, to manage to get it under control, and eventually make it go away. He no longer craved for Martin to hug him, but he still had issues reconciling the loving father he remembered with everything else he knew and learned about him.</p><p>                Boarding school may have been the period of his life where he craved touch the most. His hormones were on over drive and everyone around him seemed to be touching each other. He still felt uneasy with any kind of contact, but he envied the closeness that others shared with their friends, girlfriends, boyfriends. Malcolm was awkward and distrustful. He couldn’t seem to fit in or connect with anybody. He only had one friend, and he spent most of his time worrying about doing something that might push him away.</p><p>                There was this phase in college where he felt so lonely and craved human contact so much, he went a little overboard with it. But it was college and he was far from the only one showing up to one party after another, drinking just enough to calm the nerves and leaving with a random string of people to have meaningless sex with. One weekend after the other, constantly trying to appease that feeling, that need to be touched. Nothing would do it, nothing could fill that void. Because it wasn’t the right kind of touch. What he craved was a comforting kind of touch, a loving kind of touch. The kind no one night stand could provide. Some part of him knew that he could just go back home to New York one weekend and ask his sister for a hug and that would probably be enough. But he never did.</p><p>                After everything that had happened down under the house, he’d felt so much relief and comfort feeling his mother and sister wrapping their arms around him, holding him so tight he could barely breathe. He’d never admit it to them, because it would go right to their heads and they would become insufferable with the amount of hugs they’d give him, Ainsley especially, but he actually enjoyed it. And right now he missed their warmth against him.</p><p>                The sun was shining high and bright in the sky. Rays made their way through the closed drapes of his room, too stubborn to let him avoid their light that easily. He could hear the sounds of laughter, beach volley and loud music setting a fun vacation mood outside. Malcolm stayed away from all of it.</p><p>                Jessica would berate him for it. She was the one who insisted he left New York and came to an island resort in the first place. She would want him to go out there, socialise and have fun. He was surprised she hadn’t come with at this point. After he missed his flight by jumping out of a window onto Gil’s car, lied to her about it and didn’t catch the next flight so he could crash a wedding to solve a murder, he half expected her to accompany him all the way to Tahiti just to make sure he actually went on his vacation. He wouldn’t have blamed her. He would’ve been annoyed, but he knew Gil and his mother were worried about him and only wanted him to take care of himself. And they weren’t wrong, being away did make him feel better.</p><p>                The quiet was pretty good. The fact he didn’t have to worry, or even think, about his father was also an improvement. But, as he sat on the floor, a blanket wrapped tightly around him, he found himself missing the company. When his mind started wandering and he lost control of his thoughts, he missed Gil putting a hand on his shoulder or the back of his neck to bring him back. He craved the touch, like an anchor to reality. Here, alone with his books, there was nothing connecting him to the real world. Time meant nothing and every once in a while he found himself wondering whether he was actually awake or if he was dreaming this.</p><p>                At some point, he decided to go on a walk outside, get some fresh air, maybe try to enjoy the island vacation his mother was so proud of him for taking. It was all so overwhelming. The brightness of the sun, the heat of the tropical air, the constant music and shouts. Most of all, the happiness enveloping everyone else there, like all of their problems suddenly stopped existing. Which, for most of them, did happen. Unfortunately for Malcolm though, he carried his troubles wherever he went. There was no escaping them. It was good to be away, but it also felt like he had nothing to distract himself from the nightmares.</p><p>                Malcolm relaxed the best he could, trying his best to clear his mind. He buried himself under more blankets, holding them tighter around himself, as if they could replace a hug he desperately needed, but would never dare ask for.</p>
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